


Fly Me to the Moon

by Biodiversity (SoraSato)



Series: Overdrive [8]
Category: Is It Love (Visual Novels)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anal Sex, Erotic Massage, F/M, Flirting, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26128840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoraSato/pseuds/Biodiversity
Summary: A standalone fanfic on a fanfic series. This one takes the Drogo character into a spin-off of his own, based on prepositions made in Love As It Is series. Here, he has silvery (instead of yellow) eyes, he owns the Black Diamond Photography Studio, the BDSM jewelry line, and has a peculiar explanation of his name. The young archaeology student meets him in a rather unorthodox manner...
Relationships: Drogo Bartholy/Original Female Character
Series: Overdrive [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774561
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Fly Me to the Moon

The receptionist at the massage parlor was waiting for the client’s decision.

On the other end of the line, Siena scratched her head.

“Well, if you say he is as good as Val… Eh, all right, I will try out this replacement of yours… 18:00 as usual then.”

“Thank you very much, miss Reynolds! We’ll be waiting for you at 18:00 tonight. Goodbye.”

The girl stretched.

“Ugh… I don’t like all these replacements… if not for my sore back…”

Her friend Sarah grinned.

“Maybe you should get a date instead of all these massages, dear…”

The golden-haired Siena shook her head.

“With all my training, I don’t have any spare time for relationships… Sex would be good for me though, but since sex usually comes with a person…”

She sighed. Her opinion on local men was below tepid, and Sarah had given up on dissuading her finicky friend.

The receptionist was exaggeratedly cheerful when Siena came in, and the latter felt apprehensive.

She hesitated.

“Hi… um… so please tell me again, when Val is due back?” she asked, hoping her usual massage therapist would be back sooner than announced previously.

But the receptionist did not make her happy, repeating what she had said earlier over the phone.

“In one week. The retreat is very important to him.”

“So is my back to me…” grumbled the girl under her breath. The car crash was still sometimes bothering her in her dreams, but her young body was eager to get well as soon as possible. Her allowance provided for two massages a week, and she wasn’t inclined to leave these funds to waste. “All right. So be it…”

Truth be told, Val was her favorite therapist not because of his outstanding massage skills, but rather because he baited her with light flirting, and the girl came to view her massage sessions as delightful almost-dates rather than purely therapeutic procedures.

As usual, she was ushered into a warm room with soft lighting, unobtrusive music, and a beautiful screen, behind which she could take off her clothes.

Having taken her place under a clean sheet on the comfortable high table, she pushed the button, signaling that she was ready, and tried to relax.

The door opened, and a tallish, broad-shouldered wiry man came in. His face made Siena gulp in sudden admiration – he had a gracefully elongated jawline with salient cheekbones and a stubborn chin; also, he had beautiful silvery almond-shaped eyes under dark brows, a proud roman nose and full pale lips with a constant ironic grin hiding in their corners. His thick blond mane was tamed with an elastic band tying it into a short ponytail, the uniform was hanging loose on his sides, hinting at the presence of a boyishly-thin waist.

He stretched his lips a little more for her benefit, his eyes still laughing, and she instantly liked his attitude – he didn’t aim to please, he knew she would like him as he was.

“Good evening,” he purred in a soft cattish baritone, further mellowing his client, “You’d like a classical massage, as I gather. Any special requests?”

Siena smiled, trepidating in anticipation – his presence was soothing and exciting at once.

“I had a car crash, so Val has been working on my lower back. Also, we had a very rigorous training today, so my shoulders and thighs are kind of sore.”

He nodded.

“Understood,” and gently touched her, guiding her body to lie straight. His touch was everything she ever wanted to have in a therapist – it was assured, knowledgeable, and caring; a delicious mix.

The man had a particular smell about him, something she used to smell at their Egyptology classes: cedarwood, frankincense, myrrh, sandalwood, and old leather. Embalming mixture, a fragrant concoction warmed by a live skin. This familiar precious scent relaxed her even more, making her feel at home. She closed her eyes and, willingly yielding to his touch, turned her head away from him.

“You smell very nice,” she couldn’t help but comment, blissfully smiling.

“Thank you, Miss Reynolds,” his tone was light and nonchalant, his oiled hands beginning to glide over her back.

He knew the mechanics of the body as thoroughly as the creator himself, that much became evident soon enough, and Siena couldn’t prevent herself from letting out happy sighs under the man’s skillful ministrations. Still further on into the procedure, she began feeling a natural arousal stemming from all the pleasure she was receiving, her body gladly giving up into his silent care.

“You have tension in your lower abdomen,” the therapist murmured matter-of-factly, trailing his fingertips along her pubic hairline, staying within the decent limits but nevertheless making her body strain after his touch.

“Yes,” she murmured, acquiescing to anything he had to offer her, her fingers feebly striking his forearm.

But he gently put her hand back on the table, covered her with a warm blanket, and stepped away from the table.

“I would suggest you ask your boyfriend to stimulate that area,” he said softly, lowering the lights to give his client a rest.

Siena, with her body still demanding attention, frowned and said with her eyes shut:

“I don’t have any… um… could I ask you to continue? For an additional fee?”

She heard him sigh.

“There is a strict policy in this parlor. This is a decent establishment, miss.”

She opened her eyes and fixed him right in his laughing silvery eyes.

“Name your conditions, sir,” she whispered, feeling such desire that it left no place for shyness.

The blond man approached her once more with a soft smirk illuminating his face, and leaned on the edge of the table, looking the girl in the eyes. His soft gaze suggested he liked her but he nevertheless said soothingly:

“I’m sorry. There is none…”

However, she registered an absence of finality in his voice, a hesitation mark, and pressed on:

“Would you leave your client… tense?”

He scoffed, amused, and let his sight travel along her forms hidden under the blanket.

“So… this is a case of urgency…” he drawled with gentle irony, appraising the girl.

Siena raised her hand again but did not dare touch him this time.

“Please…” she murmured, biting her lower lip and staring the man anxiously in the eyes.

He sighed and paused. She was watching him, silently willing him to agree.

He sighed again.

“All right. Just this once. You do understand, however, that this is highly irregular…”

She vigorously nodded, her breath coming out in ragged bursts, her cheeks aflame.

The man delicately slid one hand under the blanket; the touch was different now – it was teasing, provocative, exploring… utterly maddening. Half a dozen strokes were enough for the girl to start gasping and undulating under his touch. Finally, his palm crossed the line, ruffled her trimmed pubic hair, and his fingertips slid into her leaking wet folds.

She gasped, her hand automatically covering his.

A trembling “yes” left her lips again, and yet he removed her hand and whispered in a slightly hoarse voice:

“Lie still…”

His fingers slid inside her, making her rave with rapture.

“Oh yes…” her hips began moving frenetically while her hands firmly gripped the edges of the table.

“Breathe,” the man reminded her, skillfully massaging her insides. His breathing became more pronounced as he was closely watching her enraptured face, but Siena closed her eyes, completely drowning in her sensations.

She groaned, her whole body buckling and writhing under his touch. A series of powerful shudders rippled through her, making her moan, and then left her completely relaxed, panting and giddy with bliss.

“Thank you, sir…” she murmured, licking her dry lips, reluctantly letting him extricate his hand from between her legs.

The man silently nodded, rearranged her blanket, and went to wash his hands in the sink.

“What’s… your name?” she asked, wanting to make sure he was still there.

There was a short pause.

“Martin,” he said at last, returning into her field of vision and wiping his hands on a towel. He didn’t seem tense or disgruntled, his eyes were gleaming with amusement, and it eased Siena’s worry. “How are you feeling now, miss Reynolds?” he asked good-naturedly, studying her with visible delight.

She smiled and nodded.

“Much better. Thank you, Martin.”

“Then I will leave you to rest,” he said and added: “Do you want a tea or any other drink?”

“An herbal tea would be nice…” she muttered, stretching luxuriously.

He nodded and left, leaving her wondering.

He was a god of touch, and yet he worked as a simple replacement. She was aware, naturally, that she had no right to pry into his affairs, but a mere thought of taking it further with him, of making him agree to her caresses was extremely stirring.

However, he didn’t look like he was open to a relationship, and Siena laughed in self-irony – this very morning, she was the one unwilling to initiate anything.

But this attractive man effortlessly turned the tables…

She sighed and tossed on the table, unable to lie still.

Soon, the receptionist came in and brought her tea.

Siena was disappointed that he was not the one to bring the drink to her, but still, she gratefully nodded to the receptionist.

“Did you like the massage?” asked the employee, putting the tea on the nearby table.

Siena assuredly nodded.

“Yes. He is very skillful and very professional.”

She was afraid to add anything, reluctant to look overenthusiastic, but her beaming smile didn’t go unnoticed with the receptionist. The young woman smiled knowingly.

“I’m glad. Have a good rest, miss.”

Siena nodded and took the cup.

“Thank you.”

The tea was fragrant and delicate, not too hot, just the way the girl liked it.

It was time to leave. Siena put on her clothes, slipped a generous tip under the cup, and entered the reception area. The attendant smiled at her again, priming her back, thus indicating her full undivided attention.

Siena approached the receptionist, gave her a credit card to pay for the séance, and said in what she hoped was a businesslike manner:

“I’d like to book the same time this Friday…”

The attendant dutifully nodded and hesitantly looked into the ledger.

“Do you want mister Bartoli again, or would you prefer Lisa?”

Siena knitted her brow trying to figure out who this Bartoli might be, then decided to clarify:

“Is Mr. Bartoli’s first name Martin?”

The receptionist nodded, and Siena smiled, relaxed:

“Ah, then you may sign him in, I am fully satisfied with his services…”

The hardest thing proved to wait until Friday. Sarah was teasing her even without knowing the saucy details, and Siena found herself getting wet at the mere memory of the massage parlor.

She knew she wanted more, and it disturbed her. He had shown reluctance to become intimate with her and he would probably never agree to regular sex… Was he in a relationship? Was he gay? Was she not his type? Was he averse to sex without something else? Was it the wrong place?

Her head kept swarming with questions to which she didn’t have answers, and it irritated her.

Come Friday, she was so inattentive at their rock-climbing exercise that she sprained her ankle and freaked that she would be unable to attend the parlor.

Sarah took pity on her friend and smiled.

“Relax, I’ll drive you there. Might as well see the place with my own eyes…”

Siena exhaled and limped to the shower in better spirits.

Martin came in as before, after she pressed the button. His fluid, assured movements marveled the girl.

“So, sprained the ankle?” he drawled in his purring voice after calmly greeting her. “Let’s see…”

He studied her foot, and the girl felt a relief already washing over her. His touch was indeed magical, and his x-ray knowledgeable gaze seemed to dismantle her pain to atoms.

“I will bandage your ankle at the end of the massage,” he promised, arranging a sheet over her body in a practiced movement. “Any other requests?”

He seemed completely unaffected by the other day’s event, his mood completely imperturbable, and Siena shook her head negatively. Now that she was being touched again, all her questions evaporated, replaced by the luscious feeling of sweet anticipation. His distinctive fragrance was soothing and lulling her once more…

But a few minutes into the procedure, a sudden question did pop into her mind.

“Say, Martin…”

“Yes?”

“Will you still be working here after Val returns?”

There was a pause while his palms kept gliding over her skin in silence.

“No. This is just a temporary side job and only because Val asked me.”

Siena felt rising anxiety.

“So… you will not be making massages any time soon?”

She heard him chuckle.

“I have… another line of work,” he replied vaguely.

He didn’t seem to be willing to volunteer any more information, and the massage was finished in silence, leaving Siena severely disappointed.

“I will return with bandages,” he commented softly, leaving the room.

Siena sighed. She had a hard time coming to terms with the feeling of rejection.

When he returned and bandaged her ankle, it seemed pointless to ask anything else, for she would seem to be begging. So, she quietly told him “thank you” and allowed him to leave unimpeded.

The tea seemed to have no taste today. She put the same amount of tip under the cup, dressed, and left the room.

As if in a daze, she made another appointment for the next Tuesday and stepped into the evening street freshly washed with light rain. Alas, not everything in life led to something more. Resolute to put Martin behind, Siena hailed a taxi and went home.

Now, Val seemed… vapid. Although she was happy to see him back, and he was merrily chirping about his awesome retreat experience, she couldn’t fail to notice that he was actually no ace in the massage and no match to the self-assured and taciturn other man. Oddly enough, they didn’t seem to be far away in the age group from one another, and yet where Martin felt accomplished and mature, Val felt like a yapping puppy with no notion of self. Dissatisfied, she reflected on her options. Would she be better trying Lisa’s services again? Or try her luck and switch to a completely different parlor?

Deep in her thoughts, she paid for the séance and was on her way to the door when the receptionist called on her.

“Miss Reynolds! Sorry, I almost forgot! Here is a business card left for you…”

Siena stopped and turned to the attendant.

“Huh? What business card?”

The girl at the reception shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m not sure. My shift started this morning, and Alicia didn’t leave me any additional instructions. I only know that I am to give this card to miss Reynolds, i.e. you.”

Siena tentatively went back to the desk and took the black card.

A post-it note was attached to its back with Alicia’s chicken scratch of writing.

The card itself bore a brief inscription: “Black Diamond Photography,” an address, and a phone number.

Frowning, Siena nodded to the receptionist, said “goodbye” once more, and left the parlor.

At home, she took out the card from her wallet and studied it again.

It provided no further clues, but the girl was feeling a mixture of hope and hunch that this had somehow to do with Mr. Bartoli…

She googled up the place, but there was nothing unusual, just a regular photo studio, with opening hours and a stylish but barely informative site…

“Stop mooning!” she finally exclaimed, angry at herself. “You’ll be the one with a runny nose if this turns out to be something totally unrelated. Don’t get all starry-eyed if you don’t want to get disappointed later!”

She decided to let the card be for the nonce and instead busied herself with domestic chores.

Wednesday and Thursday rolled in their course, giving the archaeology students no time to get lazy, and it was with a sense of surprise that Siena answered a call from the parlor administrator.

“Good afternoon, Miss Reynolds. We checked our schedule for tomorrow and didn’t see your usual 18:00 appointment. Has there been some error?”

Siena hesitated.

“No, there is no error. I have to check something first… I’ll call you back, okay?”

The administrator thanked her and hung up, leaving the girl thoughtful.

She stepped out into the deserted courtyard and produced her wallet. The card was there. She took it and looked at it apprehensively.

Telling herself that she had nothing to lose, she dialed the number.

Five dial tones sounded before she heard a click and a calm masculine voice said: “Yes?”

Siena momentarily hesitated then announced herself:

“Hello. I’m Siena Reynolds. I got this card at the massage parlor on the Ives Street…”

“Ah, yes. Miss Reynolds,” there was a slight pause, then the familiar soft irony crept up in his voice: “Found my card?”

She blushed, feeling sweet shivers running down her spine at the sound of his enveloping purr, and ventured:

“Are you Martin?”

She could hear him grin.

“Indeed.”

She paused and asked:

“Why have you left this card? I thought you weren’t interested in providing massages anymore…”

There was a pause.

“Massages? No. But I had the impression that you were upset. Thus, it seemed wrong of me to vanish without a trace. If you are still of a mind, you could drop by the studio some time...”

Siena concentrated to read the situation. His voice sounded… inviting, with a hint of playfulness… So, he was offering her… what?

She hesitated.

“I… will have to think about it…”

“Take your time,” he replied, exhaling, and made a gulp of some liquid.

The girl bit her lip.

“May I call you back tomorrow morning?”

The man hummed vaguely.

“Just not too early, around ten would be best.”

“All right. Goodnight, Mr. Bartoli…”

“Goodnight, Miss Reynolds.”

After the call ended, Siena felt a slight trepidation, a sweet anticipation warming her blood. The man was playing it cool, but a mere memory of his massage heavily tipped her decision-making scale.

She dialed the parlor and told the administrator:

“I’ve checked my schedule here, and I will definitely skip tomorrow’s appointment.”

His voice was sleepy when she called him in the late morning.

Trying to sound neutral, she asked him:

“Is your offer still up, Mr. Bartoli? How about tonight?”

He exhaled and tossed in bed, arranging himself more comfortably.

“Tonight, huh? Eager to have a tour?”

She scoffed.

“Why not. Unless you have other plans. I do realize I’m being sudden.”

The man paused and then asked with what appeared to her as a trace seduction:

“Would you be expecting a massage?”

“Name the price,” she grinned ironically, harshly reigning in her feelings. She was bent on keeping this – whatever it was – as cool as possible. She already had been having this bad impression of herself chasing the man, and it disquieted her.

“Oh, I will think up something…” he drawled, audibly rubbing his face, “Mind you, I don’t have any special massage table here, just a regular bed…”

This was daring, to say the least, and the girl did not stop herself in time, breathing hotly:

“Are you still talking about the massage, Mr. Bartoli?”

Again, she had a feeling that he was enjoying their playful conversation as much as she was…

His voice was now low, sultry.

“Yes. On one condition.”

She blinked, intrigued.

“A condition?”

“You will do as I say and won’t ask for more.”

That was painful. But she was already too deep in it.

She gulped.

“Mr. Bartoli… I… uh… all right.”

“All right,” echoed the man on the other end of the line. “At 18:00 then?”

Siena exhaled.

“Yep. Sounds fine…”

The call ended, and the girl bit her lip, feeling her face burn.

“What am I getting into?” she asked herself, unable to retain a gleeful grin.

She rejoined Sarah for the rest of the day, and by the appointed time she was checking her GPS in front of an old brick building in a posh downtown district.

The doorbell buzzed, and she heard light brisk steps approaching the door. The lock clicked, and an unfamiliar young man with black hair and bright emerald eyes opened to her.

“Oh, hi,” he said nonchalantly, “you must be miss Reynolds. Don’t worry, I’m leaving. Just go upstairs, Drogo’s inside.”

Bewildered, Siena exclaimed:

“Who’s Drogo?”

The young man melancholy smiled and shook his head.

“Oh sorry. I mean Martin. We’ve been teasingly calling him Drogo for so long that it stuck to him. I’m another Bartoli, by the way. Peter Bartoli.”

He offered her his hand, and Siena mechanically shook it, still trying to adjust to the new information.

“Are you his brother then?”

The young man nodded.

“Essentially, yes. You wouldn’t tell it, right? Well, anyway, I need to go. Have a nice evening, Miss Reynolds.”

He waved to her and left, slipping a jacket on as he went.

The door clicked closed, and Siena turned her head toward the stairs that wound up around an elegant old elevator shaft. The building was ancient, and it seemed to retain all its original fixtures. The studio was apparently taking up the mezzanine… If so, this had to be a very well-to-do business, and Martin indeed could allow himself not to chase any additional jobs to line his pockets.

She heard feeble sounds of music and put her foot on the first step.

She could still leave. But curiosity took the better of her, and she ascended the remaining set at a hurried pace.

Having opened a wrought-iron-and-opaque-glass door, she found herself in a large room that served as a reception area and a lounge zone. At the far end, there was a nice bay window with a cushy seat and a coffee table with several empty cups left on it. The girl could discern a park outside the window, and it made her smile – the place looked cozy; it was arranged simply but with a kind of attention to detail and care she had glimpsed earlier in the hot therapist’s movements.

“Ah, there you are,” she heard the purring baritone and turned to face the lean blond man standing in the doorframe to a side room. He was dressed in a black tee and black jeans, his statuesque form being a feast for the sore eyes. His jeans were tight, and Siena could see for the first time that although his figure was lean, his legs were not skinny. He was very well-shaped…

He studied her for a while, a glass with a splash of thick red liquid in his hand.

“A drink, maybe?” he asked her lightly and elaborated: “Tea, coffee, tomato juice, whiskey?”

Siena laughed and shook her head.

“I’m fine, thank you. Maybe later…” she looked around. “So… this is your main haunt, right?”

He nodded to her, finished his drink in one gulp, and demonstratively raised it, heading to another room.

“I’ll just wash it off. Hate it when it gets caked…” From the other room, the girl heard running water, and Martin added: “Take a look around…”

Then he reappeared in the doorway, calmly studying the girl with his lucid eyes.

“How’s your ankle, Miss Reynolds?” he asked approaching her in a soft feline step.

“Much better, thank you…” she sighed, watching him move. He had a predatorial grace about him, his step was as delicate as that of a cat’s, he was half-circling her as if he was… gently hunting her.

He waved to another door and made a few steps toward it.

“Here’s the main shooting room…” he commented, switching on the lights and beckoning for her to come inside.

The room was vast, spacious, and loaded with various pulleys, backgrounds, lightboxes, and what’s not.

Siena was turning her head this and that way with sincere curiosity, her mouth slightly agape in amazement.

“It’s so… cool!”

Martin was still observing the girl with a mild crooked smile playing on his lips when he switched on some background music and picked up a hefty camera lying nearby on a tabletop.

“Could you stand over there next to the white wall, where an “X” is marked on the floor with a silver tape…?”

Siena arched her brow inquisitively but obeyed.

“Just a warning, I will not get naked for the camera,” she giggled playfully as she stood on the “X” and turned to face the man.

He already captured a few shots while she was turning, and cast her a gently mocking gaze.

“Hmmmmm, what do you know…” he grinned at her and squeezed his eye shut to take a better aim. “Well, how do you like this place so far?”

Trying not to freeze with the camera trained on her, Siena looked around and nodded.

“It’s impressive. Is it yours?”

Martin’s lips stretched into a curious smile.

“You may say that… An old fart’s investment into my wellbeing…”

Intrigued, Siena looked at him, stopping to mind the camera.

“A parent?”

The man grumbled: “Yeah…” in a not-very-convincing manner, but Siena chose not to press on.

He made a few more shots, circling around her, then asking her to look this or that way, and finally lowered his lens.

“Thank you for indulging me,” he smiled, approaching her and showing her the screen of the camera.

He began leafing through the freshly made shots, quickly deleting the ones he didn’t like and pausing on flattering ones. The girl had to admit that he had a very sharp eye. Several shots made her gasp in awe – she had never realized she could look so stunningly beautiful.

“Mr. Bartoli, I’m officially smitten,” she turned her face looking at him with a mixture of admiration and reverence. “I’ve never seen myself so… amazing!”

He eyed her playfully out of the corner of the eye and stepped away from her, walking toward the table to put the camera back in place.

“Well, that’s what I do here,” he replied nonchalantly and waved her to follow him out of the room, putting out the lights as they exited. The music continued to gently murmur in the dark, spilling into the other areas of the studio.

Once again in the reception area, he went to the bay window and collected the empty cups.

“Just a sec,” he winked at her, taking the cups away, but not before Siena could spot lip-gloss on some of them.

Then Martin reappeared out of the kitchenette carrying a plateful of apples. He chose one for himself and handed her the plate. This time, she did not refuse, picked a juicy red apple, and hesitantly asked him:

“So… how come you are such an amazing therapist to boot?”

Martin shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and pointedly crunched on his apple. His artificially lazy gaze travelled across the girl’s features as if caressing them. Then he slowly replied, looking her in the eyes:

“Which part of the massage are you referring to?”

Siena blushed to her roots and giggled, hiding her lips behind her apple.

“Oh, I was talking about the classical one for sure.”

The man chuckled, put the plate on the coffee table and plopped on a stylish even if a bit used leather sofa in the lounge area near the bay window and gestured for the girl to take a seat.

“How perfectly innocent, miss Reynolds… I could even buy it under some different circumstances… Oh well, since you asked… Once I have been a decent pathology student, then I happened to get curious about muscle movement... one thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was being dubbed ‘the mechanic’…”

Siena sincerely exclaimed:

“And rightly so! You are the best therapist I know! And I’ve picked through a LOT of them these past six months!”

Martin slightly knitted his dark brows and narrowed his eyes, his face losing all traces of irony:

“After the car crash that you’ve mentioned before?”

The girl nodded.

“Um… yes. It was something of a pure accident, it was no one’s fault. I was taking a taxi to the airport, the weather was super-nasty, it was the middle of the winter, a blizzard… We still don’t know how this thing started, the police surmised that someone didn’t keep the right distance or made a too sharp turn of the wheel, cars started to hit the brakes, skid, whirl in the snow, and eventually pile up, bumping into each other. Ours just happened to end up in the middle of it…”

Her eyes widened, glassy, and her face went rigid at the memory.

Martin frowned and lightly stroked her on her cheek with his fingertips.

“I’m sorry I brought that up,” he murmured sounding sincere.

Siena looked at him and nodded.

“It’s okay. I’m doing a good job getting over it…”

His fingers were still thoughtfully lingering on her cheek, tracing weightless arabesques on her skin.

“Have you had your therapy today?” asked Martin in an even, caring voice of a professional.

Siena shook her head negatively.

“No, I haven’t decided what to do about it yet. Since you are unavailable, I figured I could try to look for someone else, having realized the limitations of Val’s treatment…”

Martin studied her for a while, then sighed and said in a brisk businesslike manner:

“All right, I’ll make an exception for you if you have nothing against this sofa. Are you up for it now?”

Siena studied his composed face and curiously cocked her head:

“Like, right now? How will I repay you?”

A crooked grin illuminated his features.

“Oh, you remember my condition, don’t you?”

She smiled at him.

“The one where I have to obey you and ask for nothing more?”

He nodded, chuckling.

“Precisely. So, if you would agree not to grab me while I’m working and to a no-kissing policy, I will deem this small favor a necessity in your state.”

The girl looked at him probingly and decided to clarify:

“A no-kissing policy for you or for me?”

His stare was unexpectedly direct, having suddenly lost its carefree laziness.

“Do you want a massage or sex, miss Reynolds?”

To her credit, Siena did not lose her sang-froid and lightly replied, grinning at the man:

“Oh gee, I didn’t know I had the luxury of choosing! A tough choice, really, but I would start by a massage, Mr. Bartoli.”

He nodded with a slight smile, appreciating her witty reply, his gaze becoming mellow once more, and gestured toward another door.

“To the left, behind this door, there’s a makeup room. You can leave your stuff there and wrap yourself in a sheet, it must be lying on the shelf to the left of the makeup station. And I will crank up the heating here in the meantime…”

Siena put her untouched apple on the table and scampered away in the indicated direction.

Behind the first door, there was a room with more photo equipment, a large bed, and several computer screens. Was this the same bed that he had mentioned on the phone?

The girl scoffed ironically and appreciated the man’s tact – he never mentioned the bed again. Then she entered the makeup room and spotted a clean white sheet hanging folded on the back of a chair. She gathered that it was meant for her as there was no other sheet on the shelf. So, the man had been entertaining several options on her account… She felt a surge of delightful thrill coursing throughout her body and began undressing.

When she reappeared in the main room, Martin already changed into loose linen pants and a roomy shirt; he was arranging a cover on the sofa and putting a blanket nearby.

“Wow, you are taking it seriously,” grinned the girl leisurely strolling toward him and taking in his every movement. She marveled at his hands – they were like a surgeon’s hands: it was as if they possessed a mind of their own, their movements clever, laconic, and precise.

The man straightened up and looked at his patient.

He shrugged his wide shoulders and scoffed:

“There is no point in doing something only half-way. Lie down here, head toward the armrest.”

The girl eagerly nodded and went to arrange herself in the described manner.

“May I ask… From a massage therapist to a photographer there is a considerable leap… What happened?”

Martin assisted her in adjusting her position and used this pause to reflect on his choices before replying. Then he stretched his lips in a lopsided grin and sighed lightly:

“Oh, you know… I needed some good images for my jewelry ad campaign, and nobody could do precisely what I had in my head. So, I just tried to express it myself and it worked…”

Siena loudly guffawed in amazement and turned to look at the man.

“So, it’s not only a transition from a therapist to a photographer, but rather from a therapist to a jeweler?!”

Martin laughed lightly and gently but firmly put her head back in place.

“What can I say… life sometimes can be unpredictable…”

By the tone of his voice, Siena understood that he was not going to elaborate on the subject, so she sighed and tried to relax. When his hands touched her and began doing their magic, she gave up on the idea to continue their conversation and completely surrendered to his massage.

He flexed and stretched her this and that way, plying her like a rag doll, and Siena felt on cloud 9, listening to how her bones were clicking into place, her sinew and muscles stretching and her body screaming in pleasure.

Afterwards, she never registered when she drifted into sleep, and it was only the sound of him drinking something somewhere in the vicinity that awakened her. She stirred sleepily and rearranged herself on the sofa. She was covered with that nice soft blanket she had seen earlier. Her body felt divine.

She stretched pleasurably and turned to find the man with her gaze.

He was sitting in an armchair nearby, calmly watching her and sipping some red liquid from a glass.

“Ah, there you are again,” he grinned playfully and stood up. He went somewhere outside her field of vision, rinsed the glass and returned with another apple.

“So, how are you feeling?” he asked, crunching on the fruit delightedly.

Siena smiled blissfully at him and curled up enjoyably under the blanket, blinking at him like a satisfied cat.

“Divinely…” she murmured, still beaming. “I want to appropriate your hands…”

Martin lightly scoffed and took another bite of the apple, his eyes merry.

“Sorry, dear, I come along with my hands. It’s a package deal.”

She smiled at him foxily.

“Even better.”

They looked at each other, grinning. Then Martin shook his head.

“Sorry to break you the news but you could wish to reconsider because I’m quite a handful.”

The girl, still smiling, softly replied:

“Then I would be also taking your eyes… Do you know that they shine almost like LED lights? Quite useful in the dark…”

The man laughed, little devils dancing in his lucid eyes, his gaze avidly appraising the girl.

Then he recomposed his face and dispassionately uttered:

“My eyes are not for sale, miss Reynolds. I need them for my business and… other things…”

She eagerly jumped in:

“Like what?”

His cocky grin was beyond seductive, but still, he managed to appear completely laid-back.

“Like… checking out beautiful girls…”

Siena felt her body heating up under his calm, slightly mocking stare. It was high time for him to move closer to her. And yet he was still lingering…

“Are you trying to make a barbecue out of poor old me with your stare, Mr. Bartoli?”

He laughed and went to sit down on the edge of her sofa at the level of her stomach.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he replied, leaning his elbow on the backrest and eating her up with his soft predatory stare.

The girl was drowning in his eyes now, and the only thing she found to ask was:

“Is your condition still on, Mr. Bartoli?”

Martin sighed and said barely audibly:

“It applied to the massage only…” his eyes were smiling but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

The girl paused; her impatient gaze was roaming over the angular lines of his body.

“This is very good news…”

His hand slightly touched her shoulder while he leaned over her.

“I think so too…”

For a moment he lingered, observing the girl’s dilated pupils. In the background, Frank Sinatra was softly purring _Fly Me to The Moon_ , giving their mutual stare-off another dimension. The pause stretched, the moment sweet, their faces close to each other, their eyes locked in shared enchantment. Her gaze was that of a lush green planet fascinated with the starry sky, and he was watching this marvel of a planet bewitched with her abundance of life… Slowly closing on to her face gave him an incomparable rapture. Their breaths mingled.

Finally, he inhaled her sweet smell, licked his lips, and gently laid her back down on the sofa.

“Just don’t say afterwards that I invited you here to seduce you…” he whispered, laughing, and began unhurriedly carpeting the skin on her cheek and neck with sweetly stinging kisses.

Siena shivered, giving up to him with glee, finally being able to touch his incredible wiry muscled body as much as she had wanted to.

“That’s exactly what you were up to…” she giggled, pushing his shirt up, revealing his mouth-watering six-pack abs.

The man obediently shrugged off his shirt and tugged at her blanket to move it out of the way. His hands were far from lulling this time, each touch drew out another moan from the girl. She twisted herself in such a way that she could graze his skin with her lips and teeth while exploring his body with her impatient hands. He was massaging and caressing her as if reading her body for the first time, being both forceful and gentle, everything in the right amounts.

“Give yourself to me…” he murmured barely audibly, before suckling on her nipple with abandon and demandingly squeezing her breasts. “I want you…”

The girl’s breath was becoming labored, and her body was readily responding to his touch with the movement. It was so delightful to be able to ruffle his thick blond mane and hold his head in her hands… She realized she had been missing this in her daily life, and it felt so good to finally fill in the blanks…

Siena began sensing hot streams shooting under her skin and let out a series of whimpers and groans, clutching at the man, the touch of his bare hard body maddening her. She let her hand slip up the inside of his thigh right to his groin and find its way into his pants, where she was pleasantly surprised by a rather impressive thick specimen standing at attention.

“Oh wow, it’s so great…!” being deprived for a long time of a man’s physical touch, she couldn’t even find the right words to express how this firm, warm and micro-velvety thing in her hand made her feel. “I already love it!”

Martin chuckled contentedly, easily turned her over to her stomach, and lovingly rubbed her butt. She glimpsed him tearing at a condom wrapping with his teeth and relaxed even more, making herself comfortable and shivering in anticipation. His fingertips rubbed and parted her wet folds, making her grunt and moan, teasing her and exploring her entrance.

“Do me…” she murmured languorously, almost fainting with want for him. And she finally felt him sliding his whole length into her. She cried out in rapture and arched her back, offering her rump to the man. “Oh yes, Martin, please, do it!” she moaned, going crazy with his overwhelming caresses and releasing all her pent-up lust. If she could, she would be cursing now all the studies that had prevented her from feeling a man inside her.

He breathed down her neck, and there she spotted it. A coppery scent, mingling with Martin’s embalming incense and a fresh apple note. She was knowledgeable enough to know it was blood, but at the moment she couldn’t care less, gasping with pleasure, and arching her back.

“Oh yes, Martin, ummmmmm-- yes! More… give me more…”

He rammed into her wildly and soon the man’s frictions gave them both such intense ecstasy that they couldn’t refrain from guttural moans. All the restrained frustration in Siena found an exit through a powerful climax translating into unhindered cries and tears of relief. She couldn’t stop crying while giving up her last shudders, and the man allowed her to do so, softly stroking her head and back, still working inside her.

“You needed this, little thing,” he murmured gently when he made sure that she stopped crying, and carefully extricated himself from her.

He slid off the used condom, tossed it under the sofa, and pulled up his pants. Then he covered the cooling-down girl with the blanket and went to the kitchenette.

“Do you want tea? I have a good oolong here…” he asked her mildly and peeked back inside to check on her.

“Just a sip of water…” Siena replied, wiping her eyes gratefully, feeling lightheaded and happy.

Martin apparently went to wash first, then roamed somewhere for a minute and then reappeared in her field of vision holding a glass of water and a plate of finely sliced Parma ham and olives.

“Sorry, I ran out of bread,” he commented, handing her the glass and sitting again at the edge of the sofa.

She took a few good gulps and returned the glass to the man, studying him. He offered her the plate, and she gladly wolfed down several pieces of ham and olives.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her with a warm smile, taking a sip from the same glass and stroking her side with his free hand.

She shrugged her shoulders with a smile and caressed his hand.

“Very good…”

Martin smiled at her and hovered over her to place a kiss on her lips.

“Good.”

Now he just smelled of embalming, all traces of the coppery smell gone. Siena figured he might have a gum problem or accidentally bit his cheek and stopped thinking about it, enjoyably lengthening the kiss.

She stirred and began rising into a sitting position. Pushing the man against the backrest of the sofa, Siena straddled him, pressing her naked form to him. He didn’t mind, enthusiastically caressing her and sliding his tongue into her mouth.

“Round two I guess?” he gently scoffed between their kisses and was swiftly silenced again. After a while, he chuckled: “Do you sincerely hope I can be of any use to you again after all that thorough work I’ve performed on you?”

Siena looked into his face, pleasurably studying his features and stroking his hair.

“I’m very grateful to you. And you are not required to do anything right now… I just need access to your body…”

The man grinned leisurely and sprawled on the sofa, watching the girl with curiosity.

“Be my guest, sweetness…”

When her hot wet mouth slid on his cock, he sighed pleasurably and closed his eyes.

Friday imperceptibly turned into Saturday, and the morning light illuminated two people sleeping entangled in bed, covered with black silk sheets.

A loud bang on the door rattled through the reception area, waking the couple.

“Fuck,” muttered Martin and scrambled out of the bed. He whisked his pants from the floor and went to open the door.

“Are you out of your mind?!” a male voice shouted as soon as the door was open. “There was another…”

Then the sound was muffled as if his mouth was clamped.

Martin calmly uttered:

“Keep your shit together, Mom, you’re overreacting, as usual. Wanna tea?”

There was a pause.

The male voice grumbled at last:

“No, thanks. Stop calling me ‘Mom’… You’ve been here, I gather?”

The therapist/ photographer returned to the bedroom and asked the sleepy but intrigued Siena:

“Coffee? Tea?”

She replied: “Coffee,” and began looking for her clothes.

There were none. She remembered that she left them in the makeup room and stood up.

Now both voices sounded subdued, and she had to strain her ear to discern the conversation.

Completely pacified, the second voice was saying:

“…now that you’ve moved out, I’m freaking out every time something happens…”

“Still no faith in me, huh, Mom?” chuckled Martin, and Siena heard the hiss and gurgle of the espresso machine.

She hurriedly pulled on her clothes, grabbed her purse, and, with slight trepidation, stepped into the reception area. Her first instinct was to hurriedly say “hi” and flee, but the curiosity took over and she paused, taking in the scene.

In the reception room, there was a tall man with long brown hair, looking conservative in his prim dandy attire. He was standing in the middle of the space observing how Martin tinkered with the coffee machine, but when the girl appeared on the doorstep, he immediately turned to her with a practiced apologetic smile.

“Good morning, m’lady, sorry for the ruckus earlier. I tend to be overprotective sometimes…” he stepped toward her and proffered his hand. “I’m Nicolas Bartoli, this man’s elder brother.”

Siena shook his hand, noticing how cool it was, smiled back at him and replied:

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bartoli. I’m Siena Reynolds. You are the third Bartoli I’ve met so far. How many are you?”

Martin handed her the cup and beckoned toward the bay window.

“It’s the three of us, plus our little sister Lorie, and, of course, the parent,” he commented without waiting for his brother to reply, put his coffee on the table, and arranged himself on the windowsill covered with pillows.

His brother took a seat on the sofa, the same one that was so thoroughly exploited the night before, so Siena occupied the armchair and busied herself with her coffee.

A phone rang somewhere, and Martin grumbled, springing up.

When he disappeared into another room, Nicolas Bartoli gently smiled to the girl and said good-naturedly:

“I never figured Drogo could end up being so successful socially, to be honest. I’m glad he turned out so well…”

Siena smiled.

“Why ‘Drogo’? It’s like ‘The Game of Thrones’ or something?”

The elder Bartoli looked perplexed for a second, then scoffed.

“Oh, no, no… It’s Ferrari 250 GT Drogo, a car with a history for him. He’s a bit crazy for flashy cars, you see… Childish, really…”

Before Siena could ask him anything else, Martin zoomed in enthusiastically and announced:

“Sorry guys, I’m kicking you out. Bas just offered to make pancakes for breakfast, and I’m outta here.”

He hurried to dress, and his guests stood up.

Nicolas smiled at the girl.

“Don’t worry, Bas is his buddy. Apparently, they share a passion for fine cuisine. Sebastian – for cooking, and Drogo – for eating it…” he laughed and gracefully inclined his head. “Nice to have made your acquaintance, Miss Reynolds. Again, I apologize for the ugly way I woke you up.”

She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

“Anyway, it was high time for me to leave…”

She licked her lips, enjoying the last drop of the fragrant espresso, and moved toward the reception.

“Drogo, your friend is leaving!” shouted the elder Bartoli, and Martin darted out of the bedroom, wearing black jeans and a grey tee. He beamed at the girl, hugged her, kissed her on the lips and patted on her butt.

“It’s been a nice night,” he murmured in her ear. “You know my number if you care to repeat it…”

Siena curved her brow, looking crabbed.

“You know mine as well…”

In the darkness of the studio, images on the monitor were quickly alternating, reflecting in his cold glassy eyes.

He exhaled, and the puff of smoke was illuminated by the light coming from the screen, dulling the images.

A phone rang, and his eyes flicked in its direction, reading the name on the incoming call.

“Nicky,” said the inscription, and he sighed.

Reflecting on whether to take the call, he took a swig of an amber liquid from a half-empty bottle. Then he winced, grunted, and took the phone.

“Yes, Mom?”

On the other end of the line, the grumpy male voice told him:

“Quit that already. I need you to meet Peter at the St Florent Park’s southern entrance.”

He sighed.

“Be there in fifteen.”

“Ten.”

“Do I need a car?”

There was a short pause on the other end of the line.

“No, you’ll be faster on your own.”

He sighed again.

“Eh, I’ll never be able to get any fat on my bones at this rate…”

The man on the line sighed too.

“Be careful, Drogo.”

“Will do, Mom.”

He switched off the phone before he could hear another rant, left the computer on, and lightly sprang up to his feet. In a blink of an eye, he was already at the door, closing it from the outside.

At the entrance to the park, a silent figure made itself visible to Drogo, stepping into the moonlight. The pale, dark-haired young man’s elegant silhouette looked somehow more ethereal than that of the blond Drogo.

The two patted each other’s shoulders.

The pale young man weakly smiled.

“You’re still fast, bro.”

The blond’s lips twisted into a crooked grin.

“And you hoped to the contrary? Tsk-tsk-tsk, Pete!”

The brunet shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m just worried… As is Nick. We still cannot fathom what you’ve become. Anyway, our target went into the gazebo at the duck pond. Don’t underestimate him, he may have drunk the mayor’s potion.”

Drogo nodded and produced two ergonomic switchblade knives.

“Then we don’t use fangs.”

His brother took one of them and weighed it in his hand.

“It’s been a long time since I used weapons,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Drogo playfully whirled the blade in his hand, showing off his mastery.

Peter chuckled.

“Once a peaky blinder, always a peaky blinder…”

The blond man grinned.

“Oi, I ne’er been with ‘em lads! Now let’s go!” he exclaimed in an exaggerated slang and impatiently waved his hand.

His brother led the way, muttering under his breath: “ragamuffin!” but Drogo couldn’t care less, already focused on the task at hand.

Drogo exhaled and let the dead man sink to his feet, removing his knife on the way. The cuts stung like a bitch but not as badly as his brother’s. Peter was rolling on his back, wincing and making a huge effort not to howl in pain.

The blondie observed the last shudders of the dead and picked up the latter’s spiked weapon.

“Nasty thing,” he growled, staring apprehensively at the poisoned barbs.

Then he cast an evaluative gaze at his brother and sighed.

“Looks like I’ll have to play the mule. Again.”

“We… cannot… leave him… here…” muttered Peter through his teeth, clutching at his side.

Drogo looked unhappy.

“I know, right? But I have to make sure hugging him wouldn’t be a deadly business.”

The blond man tentatively poked the body and hemmed in a slight surprise.

“Hmmm… the bastard wears something like a silver chainmail… not that it did him any good…”

Even in pain, his brother stirred in alarm.

“And you can touch it without getting burned?”

Drogo frowned.

“It’s hot to the touch, but bearably so. All righty, bro, I take the stiff and his toy, you just hug me by the neck from the back, and let’s go, the dawn is near.”

Both brothers made sure they left no traces of the fight and swiftly departed, Drogo carrying the dead man in his arms.

At the manor, a tall pale man with long brown hair opened the door to them as soon as they approached the porch.

“Damn, Drogo! Why did you kill him?!” he hissed at the sight of the cadaver.

“Better take care of Pete, he’s burning up,” grumbled the blond man, heading for the stairs to the crypt.

“Just don’t call on the ghoul yet!” the third man called after Drogo.

“I know, Mom!” replied the latter, never turning back.

He proceeded down, following the winding pathways, taking care not to brush the corpse’s limbs against the walls.

Finally, he entered the preparation room and laid the body onto the slab.

Sighed. He didn’t need any light to see his victim, but he wanted to discern the colors, so he went to switch on the lamps.

Under the electric light, the body looked grotesque, broken, the man’s eyes staring into the void.

The blond killer began dispassionately removing the victim’s clothes one by one, thoroughly studying each piece and all pockets. His late adversary had an impressive arsenal on him, and the sight of it made Drogo murmur thoughtfully:

“Were you against solely vampires, Nicky would be widowed by now…”

He heard the steps, and – speak of the devil – his elder brother Nicolas entered the room.

“How’s Pete?” the blond asked without turning to him.

Nicolas heavily sighed and joined his little brother at the slab.

“Not too good. Do you know what hit him?”

Drogo tossed the weapon the latter’s way and gestured to the pile of clothes, armor, and small devices.

“See? He was well prepared…”

The blond killer didn’t have to further explain to his brother the reason for the murder. Nicolas understood it at a glance:

“A seasoned hunter.”

“Yep.”

“And now he’s disappeared.”

“Yep.”

“Crap.”

“Crap.”

Nicolas looked at his brother.

“Drogo, we’ll need your presence here for a couple of days at least. As a cover…”

The blond man nodded and thoroughly examined the body.

“I wonder what’s in his blood?” he murmured, staring at the fresh gash in the cadaver’s chest.

Nicolas vigorously shook his head.

“Don’t take up on this idea to drink it.”

“Just a taste…” Drogo leaned to the corpse’s neck and licked a droplet of blood.

For a moment, nothing happened, then suddenly, the blond man began coughing, choking, wheezing, and clutching at his throat. His brother pulled him up and yelled in a panic:

“Martin!”

And at the next instant, he heard his brother’s merry chuckle.

“Got you, Mom!” he laughed out loud, seeing a look of complete bewilderment on Nicolas’s face.

“You brat!” as soon as his brother understood that he was tricked, the panic on his face turned into rage. “You worthless idiot! How could you?!”

The blond trickster shrugged his brother’s hands off his shoulders and giggled:

“At least I got you to call me by my name!”

Having given him the time to cool down, he added:

“His blood is nasty. Definitely spiked with something, but it’s not the mayor’s recipe. Something vile, far more deadly. Our guy was a pro. We’re in deep shit.”

“I guess we need to call Vittore,” sighed Nicolas and headed for the exit. “When you finish the autopsy, call the ghoul, his medallion is in the same place…”

Vittore, their Father, was predictably unhappy.

“If a professional hunter came your way, it can only mean one thing – your cover in this small town is as good as blown. I suggest you pack up and move to the other coast. And stop using small towns, people are highly visible there.”

The conference call was held in the attic as the most unlikely place to get eavesdropped on.

Drogo was unimpressed by their Father’s plan.

“And what if we instead go on pulling at these hunters’ whiskers? Make them move.”

Vittore growled.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Do you want to get killed? It’s a miracle you survived him this once.”

Drogo tossed his head back, silently laughing.

“You already killed me, Vittore. One more time will not make any difference. But if we succeed, we’ll get rid of the most fanatical Descendants and send a message to the rest.”

Their Father made a hissing sound and snapped back:

“You’ve been always been ballsy, Martin. Thick as a brick, too. This is not some street war for you! You don’t fight a losing game; you pack up and leave. You never got that.”

Nicolas decided to step in.

“Father, but we already know most of the players here, we know their weapons and tactics. I believe a high-visibility profile can serve to our advantage.”

“Like Martin’s stupid jewelry line and a photo studio he already made me agree to? What good it did to any of us?”

Drogo scoffed and replied:

“For one, I stopped being constantly bored and thus I practically stopped messing with the local University students. At least I don’t bite them anymore. Second, the town administration loves its wealthy citizens, and the mayor is ready to lap up out of my hand. He is a Descendant, but there are so many ways to use him that I will not even start to count. And third, you profit from the jewelry line handsomely, so I don’t see why you could be against it. If we start fussing right now, or worse – leave, we are bound to blow our cover. If we play the rich brats, they will have not a shred of proof that we are involved in any manner.”

Vittore grumbled discontentedly.

“The rich brats are the first ones to get inspected by the hunters.”

“Then we’ll have to act very un-vampire-like,” offered the taciturn Peter. “Very subtly, in small ways, we need to introduce a public understanding that we are not weirdoes from an old mansion, but normal people like all of them.”

“And how do you propose you do that?” scoffed Vittore, unwillingly interested in possible ways out of the situation.

Peter looked at Drogo and ventured:

“We could be seen at, say, grocery stores, we could be seen carrying some portable drink cups like takeaway coffee or soft beverages… we could gradually introduce some sort of fake tan… Nicky here could drop his usual stiff clothes… We could go jog in the park or engage in some similar activities… People get scared of things they don’t know. If we become understandable, familiar…”

Their Father sighed heavily:

“I am completely unconvinced these small tricks could do any good at all. Maybe in the long run, if you are careful enough to do it subtly… It takes a huge amount of discipline and attention to detail, and I do not trust any of you to be capable of such wondrous feats. But, if you want to play it like that… You must know that once people start looking your way, you’ll first need a distraction to get them to look the other way, and only after that blend in with joggers and the like… I suppose you gave the hunter to the ghoul?”

Nicolas answered:

“Yes, as usual. We never deviate from your instructions.”

“Good. Then let him take on the hunter’s appearance, let him be seen in town for a couple of days, and then order him to find a suitably spectacular accident.”

The three brothers exchanged unsure glances.

Then Nicolas cleared his throat and voiced their mutual concern:

“Father, none of us is ancient enough to handle such a complex procedure…”

Vittore’s answer surprised them all.

“Lorenza is.”

Nicolas even stuttered when he replied:

“Lorie?! Bu-b-but she looks like a six-year-old!”

Vittore’s cold voice unpleasantly grated on their eardrums:

“So what? You’ll just have to accompany her around, that’s all.”

Quickly reflexing on their options, Nicolas said at last:

“All right, I think it might be feasible…”

“Then do it. Now I reckon I paid you enough of my time. Keep me informed.”

The line went dead, and the vampire brothers exhaled in relief.

“Thanks for not selling me to the old fuck,” said Drogo, standing up. “Well, I gotta go to the grocery. If you want my fashion advice, you know where to find me.”

Peter shook his head and clasped his palms in a pleading gesture.

“Please find some jeans and a tee for Nick first! I’ll put him to watch some tv show, it’s high time he stopped talking like a fossil.”

Nicolas glared at the middle brother and exclaimed:

“Hey! Mind your own sonatas, Pete!”

Drogo looked at them and sighed.

“Okay, I’ll find you something to wear. Just find a way how to break the task to Lorie.”

Feeling on the upbeat, Peter offered another idea to his younger brother:

“Maybe you could take that girl I saw at your studio for shopping, it would do us good if some of us could display a normal relationship…”

Drogo sharply turned to his brother.

“Leave my personal life out of this.”

Peter and Nicolas exchanged conspiratorial glances, and Peter muttered in a tin voice:

“He cares for her.”

Nicolas nodded and sweetly hummed:

“Uh-huh…”

Drogo rolled his eyes and headed to the exit.

“Sod off you idiots,” he grumbled and slammed the door behind him.

Now every other class in the Egyptology department made her trepidate, the teasing smells of embalming resins and incenses stirring her on a physical level. The man was like catnip…

She was repeatedly asking herself if she should call him but only reluctance to be viewed as clingy stopped her from doing it.

But on Tuesday morning, she was relieved to receive a message from him:

“ _R u keeping the same massage schedule_?”

She felt a sudden surge of such elation that her friend Sarah kicked her under the desktop, warning her to keep quiet – their geology professor was far from being forgiving.

Siena unsuccessfully tried to hide her broad grin and lowered her head as low as she could. Typed:

“ _Yes_ …?”

“ _Need any maintenance_?”

Siena carefully exhaled, feeling a furious blush creeping up her cheeks, thought to herself: “Damn, yes, I do!” and asked him:

“ _R u offering_?”

The reply almost made her giggle aloud, which prompted Sarah to kick her again:

“ _I’ve already recuperated enough_ …”

The familiar velvety voice called from behind the door:

“It’s open!”

When she came in, she saw a group of lively people hurriedly collecting cases of equipment and packing racks of clothes.

Martin hailed her over, firmly put his hand on her hip, kissed her on the cheek, and murmured:

“Sorry about this. They’ll be out of here in a couple of minutes. You can go over to the bay window to avoid the fuss. Wanna some tea or anything?”

Siena grinned.

“I’m fine. You go ahead and do whatever you need to do.”

She curiously studied the people, paying especially close attention to beautiful tall models swarming around the photographer like bees around a honeypot. He was acting casual around them, and they all were very tactile with him, trying to attract his attention. His shoulders, pectorals, waist, and his back, all of his torso was being caressed, touched, and tickled by the giggling young women, but he didn’t appear to get shy, maneuvering his way through their group using his easy smiles, his gentle hands, and his dexterity.

Having finally made it to the entrance, he raised an arm and yelled:

“All right people, thank you all for an awesome job! I’ll see some of you back tomorrow morning, for all the rest, thanks again, and have a fun evening!”

As if they had been waiting for this cue, they started to file out, nodding to Martin, shaking hands with him, or smooching, in the case of ladies.

In a space of five minutes, the place was cleared, and the man exhaled in relief, closing the door behind the last of the crew.

He met Siena’s eyes and smiled.

“Uh, give me another five minutes for a quick shower, and I will be all yours, okay? You may raid the kitchen in the meantime, there’s plenty of catering stuff left.”

The girl nodded.

“Go ahead, don’t worry for me.”

The man went away and reappeared a few minutes later, wearing loose clothes and looking smug.

“Sometimes photoshoots take longer than planned,” he explained, disappearing in the kitchen.

Siena heard him make a few hurried gulps, then running water, and then he reappeared, grinning and crunching on an apple.

“You are having a rough schedule!” exclaimed Siena, observing him as he approached her.

He shrugged his shoulders, raking his fingers through her hair, and scoffed:

“No worries…”

She moved in to kiss him, but he slightly eased himself away.

“Sorry, just drank a protein shake with raw liver, might stink…”

The girl’s eyes sparkled with a sudden realization:

“Ah, so that’s what was that coppery smell on you the other time! I thought you bit your lip or something…”

Martin curved his brow as if making a mental note, and went to put on some quiet music and take a coverlet for the sofa.

This time, his massage slowly transformed into incredibly sensual lovemaking. He was delightfully passionate, all the pent-up energy from models’ caresses going into pleasuring the girl.

Once they finally settled down and the last of moans and sighs rang out, Siena giggled:

“I don’t know, Martin, this is all so weird to me. You had a roomful of gorgeous models that were ready to eat you up, and yet you chose to call on a mere student like me. Why?”

The man sighed and tried to arrange himself more comfortably, pressed between the backrest of the sofa and the girl.

“Um… well… guess I try to keep a healthy variety in my diet. Models are fun, but they always look to make some profit out of their relationships. Not that I mind but sometimes it’s a good idea to do something different.”

Siena turned her head to look at him and argued:

“But I’m profiting from your massage skills as well…”

He scoffed and stroked her hair.

“That’s not the same. Plus, you reminded me of my real passion – the anatomy. I’m dying to know the secret of what makes people tick… So, the way that I look at it, I’m profiting the most here, for you give me the opportunity to study again…”

Siena caressed the side of his face and kissed him.

“‘What makes people tick?’ Most of the people that I know would go to the church for this answer…”

Martin laughed.

“Oh, there are countless ways leading up the mountain, but there is only one moon shining above. My way may diverge from that of church-goers but I doubt it’s any worse than theirs.”

Siena beamed and turned to lie on her back and be able to look at him.

“Handsome, skillful, AND clever. Now, these are unforgivable flaws!”

The man slightly frowned and curved his brow.

“Are you thinking of developing a crush on me, little thing?”

Now it was Siena’s turn to pucker.

“Ah, that ‘little thing’ again. I am aware enough of our differences.”

Martin sighed and extricated himself from the narrow strip where he had been lying.

He went to wash and then began rummaging through the fridge.

In the meantime, Siena took a shower all the while musing on the situation. Clearly, Martin was not the type to get attached to his sex partners, and he made it clear enough to her. Now, it was her turn to understand what she wanted out of such an arrangement.

Hating to beat around the bush, she stepped out of the shower, dried herself with a towel, wrapped in a sheet, and went to look for the man.

She found him in the kitchenette making sandwiches.

She smiled at this and asked him plainly:

“Martin, may I ask you something?”

His intelligent gaze read her expression, and he nodded calmly.

“Shoot.”

“What would be your ideal arrangement with a woman? As far as I’m concerned, a twice-a-week full ‘maintenance’ for my body is an ideal thing. I like you and I’m crazy about your skills, but currently, I’m not looking for anything romantic, it would disrupt my studies too much. So, I wonder if you’d be interested in keeping it this way for a while, or whether you’d prefer it that we’d stop this altogether. Either way, there will be no hard feelings on my part, I just want to understand the situation.”

He studied her carefully while she was talking, then put down the knife and took the platter. He touched her by the shoulder and beckoned her to follow him into the lounge zone, where he put the platter down on the coffee table, plopped into the armchair, and offered her a seat next to him on the sofa.

When she seated herself, he finger-combed his wet hair and fixed her with his serene silvery gaze.

“I appreciate your candor, Siena. You act very mature for someone so young, and my calling you a ‘little thing’ has been quite inappropriate. I apologize for that. As to the arrangement… once a week would be preferable, for I currently have a crazy schedule as well, Tuesdays are rather preferable to Fridays. I would still be willing to provide you a massage, and an extra something if you want to. I like your body, and I take great pleasure in interacting with it. As to everything else… well, I have no way of knowing yet. So, here’s how it stands now.”

Siena made a long exhale, having realized she had been holding her breath, and sharply nodded to the man.

“All right. Suits me fine, thank you,” she mentally checked whether there was anything else left to discuss, and, having found nothing, rose to her feet. “Well, if there is nothing else, I’ll be going. Thanks again, Martin.”

He chuckled good-naturedly.

“Aren’t you impatient, miss Reynolds! I never said I didn’t enjoy your company. You could stay here for the night if you want to… Come here, you must be starving…”

He grabbed her hand and dexterously yanked her toward him so that she fell right into his lap. Then he took a bite out of a sandwich and offered her another. His embrace felt so warm and comforting that Siena’s body instantly melted into his form, without even asking its owner’s permission.

The fresh sandwich was also mouth-watering, and she found it useless to resist it when it was so gently put right in front of her lips.

Martin was contentedly overseeing her feeding process, a gently-mocking glint in his gaze…

Suddenly, she felt that it became uncomfortable to sit in his lap, something hard poking into her hip… she tried to rearrange herself and realized what it was.

“Sorry, I was observing your jaws working on that sandwich,” he scoffed, helping her get more comfortable.

The girl giggled.

“Oh wow, are my jaws so sexy?”

The man shook his head uncertainly and paused, caressing her body in a very enticing way.

“They sure are… But it’s rather a dirty idea that sprang into my mind…” he murmured into her ear, making her inner muscles contract in hot longing. “An idea of adding something to your stomach contents…”

The way he said it triggered a shower of sweet goosebumps all throughout her body and made her involuntarily gasp. She put the sandwich back on the platter and licked her lips, watching the man’s face. The desire she saw in him made her instantly hot all over, and when he covered her mouth with his, she had only one wish left – to have him possess her again in every imaginable way. Oddly enough, his lust didn’t feel hollow, like any man’s who would be interested only in chasing his own pleasure; instead, it was as if Martin was wanting and loving her whole, with all her bones and intestines, as if her form was something sacred to him. He made her feel brimming with life, shiny and new, and it felt wonderful.

Her very functioning was exciting to him, and it translated in his every touch and every kiss.

Siena kept telling herself that he probably found every pretty girl fascinating in the same way, but she couldn’t deny herself the pleasure of feeling so divine, special, and cherished. She also found great pleasure in his way of expressing his male domineering nature, for he played on her body like a virtuoso on a finely-tuned complicated instrument, making her feel like water and clay, completely surrendering and opening up to him.

“Martin, I think I’m…oh, aaaaaahhhhh… harder! Oh yes! Martin, yes! Yes! More…”

She went crazy with his powerful thrusts, shuddering with rapture. His passion was amazing, and yet he waited out her climax to get to her coveted lips.

By the time he spilled into her mouth, she was feeling so grateful that she was practically begging for every last drop of him.

“Oh yes, baby…” he murmured at last, shuddering and caressing her head. “Give me your lips, dear…”

He kissed her on the mouth, licking off the smear of his own cum from her lips, and caressed her for good measure, cuddling with her again on the sofa.

This time, they felt much closer to exhaustion, and drowsiness overcame them.

With one last effort of will, Martin pulled a blanket over them, arranged his head on a leather pillow, and closed his eyes.

Siena felt such a luxurious relaxation lying in perfect fit with his body that she didn’t even think of moving – it would now feel like a sacrilege, anyway. Her head was lying impeccably comfortable on his shoulder, and it was a matter of seconds before she blissfully dozed off.

The next morning, the pandemonium began anew with people rolling out backgrounds, hauling packs of artificial snow, prepping clothes, using blow-dryers, and applying tons of makeup on yawning models.

Amidst this chaos, Martin was feeling in his element. It was as if he managed to be everywhere at once, pointing, commanding, giving a hand, or prodding a response; he was orchestrating the process as if it were a concert in a music hall.

“Oi! This statue will be used only in scene 3! Get it out of the way!”

“Where is miss Holz? Somebody seen the assistant?”

“My oh my, what a charming thing! This hat must be on screen…!”

And in the middle of all that, Martin found his way toward the stunned Siena and handed her an espresso cup on a saucer.

“Have a gulp before you go,” said the man, shielding her right on time from two burly men hauling up the bed to give space to more equipment.

The girl giggled.

“It’s a pity I have to go, this is one exciting madhouse!”

Martin shrugged his shoulders with a crooked grin and replied nonchalantly:

“Meh, it will soon subside after the prep stage is over,” he kissed her on the lips and added before zooming away: “I’ll give you a call, dear…”

And he was off to the makeup room again.

Siena’s friend Sarah looked envious.

“Wow! Looks like some big production! Each time you tell me about your therapist I go green with envy! He sounds awesome, girl!”

Siena sighed.

“Oh well… He _is_ awesome…”

Sarah looked at her inquiringly and loudly slurped the rest on her drink through the straw.

“I sense a ‘but’ coming…” she nudged her friend.

“But he is unavailable for anything more than just, you know… casual… uh… sex…” Siena tried to help herself explain, making desperate gestures and realizing she had no wish to make explanations of something she was content with being as it was.

Naturally, her friend was of another opinion.

“Ugh, dear, then you must run from him! If he just uses you to satisfy his itch, he’ll dump you in a blink of an eye at the slight inconvenience!”

Siena sighed. There they went. She made a feeble attempt at explaining but acutely feeling the inadequacy of the communication.

“Sarah, but I feel fine with such an arrangement! I know he is not that attached to me, and why would he be with all those beautiful people swarming around him on a daily basis… He is rich, talented, and very attractive, and I would prefer he would stay that way, it’s a part of his attraction. If he were to suddenly become lovesick… I don’t know if I would find him as interesting…”

Her friend looked at her with extreme disapproval and shook her head.

“You know, Siena, you are mental. You just described to me where you want him to stand, but where are you in this picture?”

Siena sighed, exasperated.

“I am in my own picture, Sarah, don’t you get it? I am happy to know him, but I have my own life and my interests at heart! Sure, I’d be upset if this thing between us ends, but I will just continue with my life, that’s all!”

Sarah shook her head, grabbed her messenger bag, and stood up.

“Honey, you don’t know what to do when something so good lands in your lap. Don’t stand with your mouth agape and grab it!”

Siena laughed aloud teasingly.

“A minute ago, you advised me to run!”

Her friend screwed up her face and made an impatient gesture.

“OR run! But don’t stand still waiting for things to happen. It’s either a dog wags its tail or the tail will start wagging the dog!”

Even before the wrought-iron-and-glass door closed without the usual satisfying click, Martin sensed someone’s presence in the studio. It was so late that there was no hope it could be someone from the shooting crew. The faint distinctive cocktail of particular scents reminded him of his last victim. Another hunter then?

Making himself obvious, Martin shuffled through the door, switched on the light in the reception area, as if he needed to see it, and proceeded to toss his keys into a wooden bowl at the desk and remove his jacket. Then he went toward the mini-bar and the stereo compound between the reception and the lounge zone, and made a show of shuddering with surprise at the sight of a tough-looking middle-aged guy sitting in his favorite armchair near the bay window.

Martin silently studied the unbidden visitor, taking in the latter’s posture of a fake relaxation, his toned shape, comfortable clothes that could disguise any number of gadgets and weapons, and his dark complexion with gleaming black eyes boring into him. In Martin’s experience, Hispanics were predominantly catholic, and thus served as breeding grounds for all sorts of fanaticism…

This bode nothing good.

“What’s an Irishman, a Jew, and a Frenchman have in common? Ah, an Italian family name, of course!” the man let out a dry sarcastic cackle, boring holes in Martin with his sharp black glare. His voice was predictably unctuous, with a note of challenge.

But Martin looked completely unimpressed. He lit a cigarette and drew in the smoke, then leaned to the stereo, put on the Dr. No 1962 OST, and adjusted the volume.

“Don’t look at me, it was never my idea anyway…” he chuckled and served himself a splash of an amber liquid from a half-empty bottle. “Wanna some Glenmorangie…? Nah, you’d be leaving soon, so I wouldn’t waste it on you…”

The man watched with rapt interest as Martin was sipping his drink, and cackled amusedly:

“Heh, are you so desperate to appear alive that you are even willing to hurt yourself with human drinks?”

Martin curved his brow ironically and displayed a leering grin:

“Who are you taking me for, man? Human drinks? I’d say Scotch whiskey was rather a devil’s drink but oh well, tastes differ. I’ve been humoring you so far in your obscure little game to see what you’re up to, but just so you know that I do not appreciate cheeky smart-asses showing up in my studio in the middle of the night and talking riddles. So, you either start to make sense and tell me why you’re here, or I call the police and they take you in for breaking and entering.”

The night visitor burst out with a peal of loud derisive laughter and exclaimed:

“Puh-leeece?! Wow, now that’s a first! And I thought I already heard it all…! Wow, you just made my day here! Now that’s good one…!”

Martin watched the man spewing some more sarcasm and, growing impatient, finally took out his phone.

“That’s it, I’m done with the lunatic quota for the week…”

Before he could dial the emergency number, the man raised his index finger menacingly and asked him:

“And what if I tell them to look for some blood in your fridge?”

Martin screwed up his face in a convincing show of repulsion and indignation:

“Blood? Whatever for? Am I some blood collector to you…? Oh! Ah! Now I start to get it! Are you fancying yourself some Van Helsing, or what?” he studied the man in his armchair with new eyes. “Here’s a newsflash for you, gramps, the psychiatric ward is on the other side of the city. If you hurry now, you might still be able to get registered tonight.”

The man narrowed his eyes, drilling into Martin.

“I’m starting to lose my patience with you, Irishman.”

“What do you know, that makes two of us,” grumbled Martin, dialing the emergency number.

Disbelieving what he was witnessing, the man just stared at the owner of the studio.

“Yes, good evening… There is a stranger in my studio, I have no idea how he got here and I’d like you to help him vacate my premises… yes, a total stranger, must’ve broken into my place while I was away… Yes, thank you…” after hooking up the phone, Martin coldly looked at the visitor and added: “Ok, Van Helsing, it’s your choice, do you want to leave or to stay and have a chat with law and order here?”

Still incredulous, the man glared at him and stood up.

“I’ll be seeing you around, mister Irishman Bartoli …”

Martin shrugged his shoulders and finished his drink in a single gulp.

“Only if the court doesn’t issue a restraining order on you, Mr. Van Helsing.”

The man’s next glare was so intense that even Martin felt a chill coursing through him.

“I am still bent on finding out about the tragic accident with my good friend that happened in your town, Mr. Bartoli. My hunch tells me it has to do with your happy international family, and my hunch is rarely wrong.”

At this, he briskly paced toward the door and left without another glance at the studio owner.

Martin sighed, shook his head, and drew on his cigarette.

“Some cheeky bastard,” he grumbled, unimpressed.

For such instances, the Bartoli brothers devised a coded text message in the guise of warning, but this time, Martin decided to play it differently – just in case.

He dialed Nicolas and began:

“Hey, Nick, imagine, some tough cunt just appeared in my studio, spouting some god-knows-what nonsense about our family… I guess the prick doesn’t even know the word for ‘adoption’… I called the police and he left, but you know, such a nutjob might get to our manor to test his creepy Van Helsing ideas, so be careful out there, call the police if need be, okay, bro?”

Nicolas paused, processing his brother’s message, and replied in tune:

“Oh, thanks for the warning, I’ll go check on Lorie… Do you think Vittore should know about this?”

Martin sighed.

“Well, he adopted us, so yeah, I say you call him first thing in the morning.”

His elder brother paused and asked:

“So, what did the police say?”

“Ah, they’re not here yet… wait, I can see their glimmers flashing… talk to you later…”

And he went to open the door.

He described the intruder to the officers in vivid detail, showed them the tampered lock on the door, checked the premises with them, signed his testimony, and saw them off, profusely thanking them.

After closing the door as best he could, he checked the time and growled.

“Oh man! 3:41! Damn those night visitors!”

He kicked off his shoes and went to the shower.

The week was hectic, and by Friday evening, Drogo happily agreed to his friend’s invitation to meet at the King’s Head pub for a “decompression.”

His friend, an anthropology professor from the local University, was a handsome jaguar shapeshifter a good head taller than Drogo, with much more lean meat on his bones than the blondie and intelligent vivid blue eyes. He beamed at his buddy from a back table, saluting him with his pint of beer.

“Hey, Marty, there you are!” he cheered as Drogo patted him on the shoulder and slid into the booth.

“Double Redbreast, 14, separate ice,” ordered the blond man to the swift waiter and turned his attention to his friend.

They barely finished exchanging their opinions on the intruder when Drogo’s phone began ringing.

The screen said “ _Shayara, mod_.”

The blond man paused, watching the screen, then put the phone to his ear.

“Yes?”

The model on the other end was trying to play the cool cat again.

“Hey, dearie. It’s Friday night, care to join us at the Dixie’s? We’d be SO happy to see you, luv!”

Drogo silently scoffed. Models and a night out, a title for a yellow press article... He looked inquiringly at his friend. The professor could easily divert their voracious attention from him and have fun as a side dish…

His friend grinned and nodded, agreeing.

“So, who’s ‘we,’ Shayara?”

“Oh, it’s Alicia, Grace, and the new girl, Diane. When are you coming, dear?”

Martin rolled his eyes. He didn’t appreciate the pushy types.

“When I finish what I’m doin’ ‘ere first,” he replied after taking a sip from his glass.

The model sighed.

“Just don’t make us wait too long, baby…” she crooned in a sweet pouty voice.

Drogo curved his brow – she sure wanted to meet…

Suddenly, he remembered the sweet smell of Siena Reynolds’ skin, its rich texture, its warmth, her toned muscles underneath… His nostrils flared and his mouth watered…

“Shayara, will you do me a favor?”

The model gleefully agreed:

“Sure! What favor?”

“Ask the manager if they could reserve the fifth booth for tomorrow…”

There was a short pause. Shayara was trying to understand…

“First, it’s too small for our company, and we’re there now, not tomorrow…”

Martin pursed his lips.

“It’s for something else, Shayara. They’ll be crowded tomorrow, and I want to make sure I get that booth. Thank you.”

The model hesitated.

“So… will you come tonight?”

“Yes. Eventually. But since you’re already there… will you do me that favor?”

She sighed.

“All right. Just don’t forget to show up tonight, dearie.”

When he hung up, Drogo’s friend suspiciously narrowed his eyes.

“What’s this about tomorrow?”

Completely coolly, the blond man answered:

“Massage.”

His friend let out a short laugh, surprised at switched gears.

“Hah! Yeah, I seem to remember Val complaining to me that you stole his client.”

Drogo shrugged his shoulders.

“Bas, I didn’t steal her. She just chose me over him.”

Sebastian grinned, his aquamarine eyes mockingly glinting in the twilight of the bar. He finger-combed his black hair and waved to the waiter.

“Nah, I believe you. Between you and me, Val is no genius…” he gestured to the waiter, showing to repeat his order. “So, is she so cute you want to take her to Dixie’s?”

Drogo gestured to the waiter to bring him the same and muttered reluctantly:

“She’s young. And she is refreshingly direct, no usual girly manipulation games. That’s an insanely attractive trait.”

He sounded like he wasn’t going to continue this conversation, and his friend chose not to press him any further.

The fraternity party was predictably crazy, and it was only when Siena returned to the dormitory did she notice the message.

“ _Do u have plans 4 2morrow nite_?”

“Could’ve asked earlier,” grumbled Siena, tossing her bag on the table, and replied:

“ _Yes, I have_.”

She never expected him to reply any time soon, so she went to the shower and was mildly surprised when she saw a new message afterwards.

“ _Can u change them_?”

She wrinkled her nose.

“ _Not until Tuesday_ ,” she finally wrote and went to dry her hair.

Sebastian opened his eye and closed it again, trying to process the image.

His body was entangled with so many limbs he stopped counting, but it didn’t tell him where they were.

Finally, he got it. It was his library. Why would they end up there of all places?! The sofa was far from the best place for such acrobatics… even if dismantled into cushions…

The screen on the wall was still working, a non-stop music channel showing some obscure clips.

The professor carefully disentangled himself from the ladies, found his pants, and retreated into the bathroom. Then he quietly crept onto the ground floor and found his buddy in the kitchen, drinking coffee.

They silently nodded to each other, and Martin poured some coffee to his friend.

Sebastian removed a bra from a chair, tossed the frilly item into the anteroom, and took the seat.

He sighed and slurped the hot brew.

“I hope those hunters of yours leave soon, I’d hate it if the gossip on my extracurricular activities reaches the dean’s ears…”

Martin shrugged his shoulders.

“I hope so too. I hate raw oysters and champagne.”

His friend scoffed sympathetically and stood up.

“All right, I’ll make your favorite…”

He went to the fridge and rummaged through the shelves…

“Oops, sorry, I ran out of milk and eggs. But if you make a beeline to the grocery, I’ll make you pancakes…”

He didn’t need to ask twice…

“Daddy, daddy, I want the same ice-cream he’s eating!” a girl with piggy tails was wailing for the whole street to hear and was pointing at Martin, who was strolling toward his buddy’s home with a grocery bag in his hand and leisurely licking at a pistachio gelato.

The girl’s tantrum attracted the attention of the inconspicuous-looking man, the same man in fact who had broken into the Black Diamond Studio just last week…

He observed the haggard-looking studio owner and curved his brow inquisitively. He wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but he was starting to have doubts… This Irishman looked exactly like a man with a hangover after a wild night, with crumpled skin and raccoon eyes, and his reaction to the kid’s screams was far from simulated, for he wrought up his face and squeezed his eye shut with such genuine pain that his observer could only take pity on him.

Well, even if the sensitive eardrums could be ascribed to the vampiric condition, the lousy complexion could not, for the bloodsuckers were very well known to look extremely enticing under all circumstances and thus were thriving in the modelling business.

Plus, this one was too often seen eating various foods that would never make it to any crazy vampire stomach without being retched out instantly and quite spectacularly.

Recalling this morning’s likewise disappointing bump-in with the Jew in the park, with spilling the middle brother’s soda, the hunter understood that he was growing impatient, and realized it was the time to start looking some other way…

When Martin returned, he found his friend in the sports room, lazily beating the crap out of the punching bag.

Martin grinned.

“How about sparring before breakfast?”

Sebastian nodded.

“Lead on, White Shark. You may take my second sweatpants, they’re in the dryer…”

“So, he was following you?” asked Sebastian, making the second batch of pancakes and contentedly watching Martin gobbling down the first one.

“Uh-huh,” muttered the blondie, nodding.

He swallowed a mouthful and tentatively looked at his friend.

“Say, Bas… is there a possibility for you to help Pete and Nick? And Lorie?”

The professor frowned and turned the pancakes.

“I’ve thought about that… Vittore seems like a nasty piece of work, maybe even one of those who performed the sacrilege, but you guys are more of a collateral damage… The only problem is that I don’t exactly know how it happened. I don’t know whether you revived because of that catatonic state earlier when we had to conduct a wake for you, or because of our experience in the jungle… or all of the above… The only reliable source for such transformation would be Yahuar Vakak himself, or someone very similar to him. But I have no idea how to find him. And we cannot just start asking native Americans with certain physical attributes: “Excuse me, are you a Mayan ruler from the 1500-ies?” My blood and my willingness could be the key but there are so many other variables…”

Martin nodded and sighed.

“Yeah, I know. It’s crazy enough that I turned out the way I did… Sssshhhh… I can hear our ladies stirring…”

Sebastian scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“So, I guess our quiet morning is over…”

Siena was contemplating the last night’s conversation. She felt good about her answers but now she was feeling bored and slightly regretted the lack of Martin’s company. The memory of his proximity was very stirring… but he was the one imposing a once-a-week meeting schedule, and she felt too proud to renegotiate the deal, even after his hasty invitation.

She sighed and dialed Sarah.

Martin ducked out of a model’s embrace and pulled out his phone.

“Strange, I thought I heard a message bleep…”

He re-read the last night’s texts and frowned.

“Uh… sorry guys… I’ve got to go…” he made a concerned face and winked at Sebastian. The latter knitted his brows.

“Are you leaving me with four ladies, pal?!”

Martin grinned.

“I bet you’ll be fine, old geezer.”

Lorie met him with a pout.

“I will soon forget how you look, Drogo!”

Martin grinned and lifted the child into his arms.

“Fair enough. How’s your school, little fairy?”

The girl winced as if she smelled something nasty.

“Or what they call ‘school’ these days! Despicable, as usual.”

Martin scoffed.

“Any new nanny to make her life miserable?”

Lorie regretfully shook her head.

“Alas. The old one. She holds onto the job like a crab. I cannot seem to be able to shake her off…”

Martin knowingly nodded and carried the vampire child to her room.

“Nick would be fuming anyway…” he commented as he landed Lorie on her bed and helped her get out of her coat.

“I’m so tired of this child’s body!” sighed the little vampire and looked at her own hands. Then she cast a glance at the blondie inquisitively. “You managed to move on past our state… Maybe I also could…? What if I drank your blood?”

Martin shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

“I’ve thought about it. But since a shapeshifter’s blood is normally lethal to us, I’m afraid mine now could also be deadly to you, honey.”

The girl sighed.

“This is so complicated! How come you didn’t die but revived after drinking that shapeshifter’s blood?”

The blondie shrugged his shoulders again.

“He gave it willingly. It has something to do with an ancient shamanic rite… Those who violated the sanctity of the rite were cursed, those who were blessed with the jaguar’s friendship were elevated. I guess Bas somehow ‘elevated’ me from the curse…”

The girl was now looking at him so pleadingly that he had trouble looking back at her.

“Can he do the same for me?”

The man sighed.

“I asked him, but he seems… unsure. Maybe next year, we’ll go on another expedition and bring more answers… Have patience, dear…”

The little girl sighed dolefully.

“Seems that’s the only thing left to me…”

Sounds of light steps on the gravel in the front yard made both of them turn heads.

“The nanny,” they both said simultaneously.

The girl giggled.

“That stupid witch!”

Martin softly scoffed.

“She’s just young.”

Lorie glared at him.

“Doesn’t that mean she could think a little faster? When she meets you, she gets even slower than usual and starts acting like a monkey that sees a banana she cannot get!”

The blond man sighed and stroked the girl’s head.

“Ah, that… You’re as observant as ever. The girl has a crush on me.”

Lorie scrutinized his face.

“And you…?”

Martin scoffed under her stare and quietly replied:

“There is someone more interesting than your nanny…”

Lorie surprisingly strongly grabbed him by the arm.

“Could you make a performance for me and let me watch you do the nanny?”

The man grunted and eased his arm out of the girl’s grasp.

“Lorie… first, I would feel creepy if you watched us; and second, I spent last night with two models. I am in need of a break here…”

The door opened, and a young student came in.

She wasn’t expecting the blond man to be with her charge and froze in place, deeply blushing.

“Oh, Drogo… I didn’t expect you to be here…” she mumbled, turning the color of beetroot.

“Why would you, little thing?” asked Martin with an ironic smirk.

Lorie immediately chipped in:

“He just told me he had a crush on you!”

The nanny’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“D-d-did he?”

Her eyes darted toward the man. He stood up.

“All right, Lorie. Now that you’re entertained, I can take my leave. Is Nicky in the sepulcher?”

The little vampire nodded.

“Napping since last week. I guess he got overexcited with this whole hunter business and decided to take a rest while he can…”

Martin narrowed his eyes.

“What an extravagant explanation to give!”

The kid shrugged her tiny shoulders nonchalantly.

“It’s mine anyway. After you wake him up you can ask him his own.”

Indeed, Nicolas was not sleeping.

He was studying some old bones.

“You mistook a phalange for a toe bone,” commented Martin, entering the room with the slab in the middle.

Nicolas cast him a brisk gaze and corrected his mistake.

“Who’s the lucky dead this time?” asked his younger brother, casually studying the remains. “Don’t tell me. A female in her early twenties, poor health, gave birth, died around a hundred years ago… Some relative of yours?”

Nicolas glanced at him with respect before returning to his study and corrected him:

“Pete’s, actually. Or so we think. He traced his lineage to her, and now we were stuck before you showed up because we couldn’t determine whether she gave birth. Now it’s settled, and he can continue looking… How did you determine that?!”

The blond man sighed.

“That’s easy. Look at the pubic bone here…” he showed where to look then curved his fingers in a specific way, “it’d be like this if she didn’t… You tend to overlook this feature…”

Nicolas nodded.

“Right, because I focus on the sacrum…”

“And it becomes smooth only after several childbirths… Well, I’m glad I could help. Now, can we go upstairs?”

Tuesday was slowly approaching, and Martin found himself… restless.

He received a nondescriptive “ _Sure_ ” to his text “ _Tuesday same time_?” and it made him vaguely apprehensive.

Previously, Siena never displayed any dissatisfaction, and he couldn’t tell if his Friday night invitation landed badly. His only means now was patience and calm.

He finished his work early and put on quiet meditative music. The shooting area had enough space for a whole class of yoga aficionados, so he had plenty of room to contort his body any way he please.

After a while, his inner balance was restored, and it was not a moment too soon that he received a call from Siena.

“Martin? Hi!” the girl sounded stuffy and a little hesitant. “I think I got the flu. Sorry. I’m in bed and I’m afraid I will not get on my feet tomorrow…”

The man made a long inhale and an even longer exhale.

“Well, such things happen. I’m sorry to hear that. Do you need anything? Like meds, vitamins, warm socks?” he let a teasing note creep into the last phrase, cheering the girl up, and he could feel she appreciated it.

“Oh, yeah, warm socks…!” she chuckled contentedly, which made him smile on the other end of the line. “Thank you, Martin, that’s super-nice of you, but I think it would be irresponsible of me to expose you to my germs… But if you told me how your weekend went, I’d really appreciate it.”

Martin closed his eyes momentarily and pressed the phone to his ear. Something was happening in his chest, a warmth was creeping up there, and he was taking a pause to take stock of the warm feeling. It was not subsiding. So, he went to the bay window, arranged himself comfortably there, and said with a smile:

“What do you wish to know, Miss Reynolds?”

The girl audibly grinned.

“Oh, anything really. Even if you were telling me some fairy-tale, I’d be happy with it.”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t come over?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“All right then… Once upon a time, I opened my eyes in my friend’s house and realized I badly needed coffee…”

Sarah was eavesdropping on her friend’s giggles and pretending she couldn’t care less. But her friend was chatting for about forty minutes already, and there didn’t seem to be the end of it.

So, Sarah fished out her earphones out of her bag and made her favorite album blast out all other sounds. It didn’t help with reading but at least it helped with jealousy.

Tuesday was hectic enough to breeze by at the speed of light, but come Wednesday, Martin dialed the girl first thing in the morning.

“Still sneezy?” he asked nonchalantly, hearing her nasal voice.

“So obvious, huh?” she cackled, wiping her nose.

“Where’s your dorm located?” asked the man without any ado.

The girl paused.

“Um… Martin, what are you up to?”

“Just humor me, will you?”

She gave him the address, and after he hung up, she hurried to tidy the room. He didn’t tell why he needed the address but she had a fairly good idea…

When he showed up at her door, she almost forgot how to breathe and had to steel herself against jumping onto him.

“Wow you’re fast!” she exclaimed, smiling and stepping back.

He entered with a crooked grin, cast a once-over around, and settled his gaze on the girl.

“Go lie down,” he ordered her, took off his coat, and went to wash his hands.

“Are you going to treat me?” she grinned, barely containing happy giggles, and hurrying to do as she was told.

Martin emerged from the bathroom and mockingly looked at her.

“Just a general examination. I will be out of town until the end of the week, and I want to make sure you are on your way to getting well.”

He sat at the edge of the bed and put his fingertips under her jaw.

“You’ve got a fever. Your body knows how to fight, don’t interfere with it unless it gets nasty…” he carefully examined the girl and helped her get under the blanket. “Now I’ll go shopping, call me if you need anything, all right?”

She nodded, and when he closed the door behind him, she tightly shut her eyes and gleefully smiled. His reserved attention was making her feel all fuzzy inside…

He returned with fruit, soups, vitamins, and a pair of ridiculously funny thick striped socks.

Siena giggled.

“Oh no! I never realized I was stuck with this particular remedy!” but she let him put them on her feet and took a cup with a hot brew from him.

“Now I’m going to make sure that you drink it, and I’ll be on my way…” he announced, returning to the edge of the bed.

“Awww! So soon!” sighed the girl and added: “Well, then I’ll be sipping it very slowly…”

The man smiled and patted her on the leg.

“Drink up, I’ll make another one…”

She glanced at him curiously and asked:

“So… where are you going, if I might ask?”

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, mechanically massaging her leg, and answered:

“I have a series of meetings in the city, plus my jewelry boutique needs monitoring… this and that… I had plans on moving my studio to the city but I like the premises here, so I’ll have to see what’s on offer there before I finalize my decision… In short, some business stuff. So, are you skipping some important classes now? What are you currently learning?”

Siena began enthusiastically recounting her discoveries, and Martin was content to just sit there and listen to her.

When Sarah barged into their room, she was stunned by the sight of the handsome blond man sitting on her roommate’s bed, telling the latter some funny story.

“Ugh… er… hi… I’m Sarah… You must be Mr. Bartoli…”

He ironically grinned at her and gave her his firm warm hand.

“You are correct, Miss Osborne. As far as I know, you’re BFF with our nanny, right?”

She shook his hand almost in a trancelike state, hectically trying to gather as much visual information on him as she could. One of her friends was head over heels in love with him, and the other was having sex with him…

After an awkward pause, Sarah remembered that she was asked a question and hurried to respond:

“Ah! Right! Yes! She works at the Bartoli manor… Sorry, I was totally unprepared to meet you here of all places…!”

Ideally, she should find an excuse and leave them alone for a while, but she was too curious to miss such an opportunity, so she offered him tea, brewed a cup for herself and asked him:

“So, is it true that last autumn you launched your own jewelry line?”

With a small smile, Martin gracefully tilted his head and replied with a mocking twinkle in his silvery eye:

“Yes, indeed. The Black Diamond Soul Mask, BDSM for short. Have you seen it, Miss Osborne?”

Sarah went slightly pink in her cheeks and reluctantly shook her head.

“Only ads, I’m afraid…”

“There are select items at the local Troy gallery,” offered Martin and stood up. “I’m afraid I took up too much of miss Reynolds’ time. She should be left in peace to recuperate…”

He cast a gentle glance at the girl and said softly to her:

“Get well.”

Then he nodded to both girls and left, allowing the two roommates to gossip to their hearts’ desire.

A week later, loud music was blaring inside the studio, and a tall, very beautiful girl was posing and flirtatiously giggling to Martin. The latter was focused on his camera and joking with the model.

He was dressed in a black tee and black jeans, his working outfit. Very sexy working outfit…

“Shayara, honey, just one more shot and we’re done…”

The beautiful model laughed.

“Awww, only one?”

The model went straight to the man and put her thin hands on his shoulders.

“Let me take a few shots of you, crusher!”

She took the camera from his hands and leaned against his body. The two people embraced and kissed, their tongues entwining.

But something was not to the model’s liking, and she sharply bent back to take a look at the man. Martin loosened his grip on her and calmly asked:

“Shall we return to our business?”

The model narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“Marty, what’s wrong?”

He took his camera back from her and coolly replied:

“Nothing’s wrong, Shayara. I just want to finish this shoot.”

She was still staring at him.

“You seem to be far away…”

Martin eased himself from the model and checked his camera. He was trying to distract himself from her scent. She smelled like food to him and it teased his nostrils, making him want to sink his teeth into her so badly... His cravings became seldom of late, but when they came, they came back with a vengeance. So, he growled gruffly:

“Sorry, honey, there’s a lot on my mind lately. And we are not an item for me to be accountable to you.”

The model looked daggers but swiftly stifled out her pouty expression and smiled.

“Ah, bello, let me ease your mind then…”

She unzipped his jeans and stroked his tool; this had an odd effect on his hunger – it suddenly traveled down to his genitalia igniting his lust like a forest fire. Now he wanted to possess her everywhere. Her mouth found the tip of his penis, and he moaned, gripping her head in his hands. “Oh yes, fuck me!”

She was very good at sucking, and soon Martin impatiently ripped off her panties and shafted her on the floor so wildly that she began howling with rapture.

The ride was crazy hot, and Martin sunk his teeth into her trapezoid before he could become aware of it. Luckily, his fangs did not come out, as his tool was frenetically penetrating the model. Shayara was so aroused that his bite only served to heighten her excitement still further. She moaned and exploded in a series of climatic cries.

The man fucked her still further, making sure she was becoming relaxed, and when her muscles softened and stopped contracting, he pushed into the other hole, cumming in a few strokes. Shayara whimpered softly, but his moans sounded very gratifying.

Martin shuddered, releasing his load into the model’s butt, and made a few more strokes, coming back to his senses.

“Um… oh… fuck, this was crazy… your butt is always so good…”

Completely satisfied with the intense experience, Shayara lazily turned to face him and grinned:

“Mmm-hmmm… Don’t forget it when you fuck others…”

Martin’s gaze was calculating and shining with excitement when his lips curled into an ironic smile:

“Don’t mind me if I do.”

Businesslike, they took a shower, dressed again, and quickly finished the shoot.

Peeking from behind the man’s shoulder at the computer screen, Shayara giggled:

“Now people will be looking at my post-coital face in your ads…”

The photographer nodded.

“You’re right, these are good. I might consider choosing from them…”

The model hugged him from behind and purred enticingly:

“Sooooooo… Even if we’re not an item, we end up doing some awesome pics together…”

The man gently removed her hands from his torso and chuckled good-naturedly:

“Don’t get such ideas into your cute head, honey.”

Shayara sighed and went gathering her belongings.

“You’re such a dick, Martin…”

He scoffed.

“And you’re pretty good at sucking dicks, Shayara.”

Even before the buzzer was pressed, Martin knew that Siena was on the other side of the door. He observed as Shayara put on her fluffy coat, and headed for the door to see her out and to let the girl in.

The model nonchalantly grinned at the newcomer and brushed past her into the vestibule. Then she turned and winked at the photographer.

“Ciao, bello! See you tomorrow,” she waved to the man with a saucy grin and lightly breezed away.

Siena followed her with a long gaze from her spot at the door, deciding whether she should come in.

But Martin came over to her, put a hand on her shoulder and casually prodded her inside.

“We just finished. Come in.”

The girl looked at him inquiringly. He looked every inch the man she remembered sitting at her bed. Just a few wet strands of hair suggested that he recently showered…

“How was your trip?” she asked tentatively, looking around. Everything seemed to be the same as when she saw the studio for the last time. But somehow, she felt a little awkward tonight. Was it because of that model’s fleeting gaze…?

“Oh, it went fine…” the man drawled and ushered her to the lounge area. “And you, feeling well?”

She nodded and grinned.

“Yeah… Now half of my dorm keeps pestering me about who was that man who came to see me…”

Martin smiled crookedly.

“I hope they’re not buggering you too much…” he mulled something over and unexpectedly added: “Say, what if we stepped outside for a bit? I’ve spent today boxed in here and I’d like to take a gulp of fresh air. Let me invite you to, say, Petrelli’s? I know you’re here for the massage but I promise I’ll do it afterwards…”

Siena grinned at him.

“Sure. I’d be happy to go somewhere…”

“Then let me take the coat…”

Petrelli’s had a delicious menu, and the two people passed there very agreeable time with good food, good wine, and each other’s witty conversation. It was so much more exciting than texting, thought Siena, laughing at Martin’s joke. Tonight, he was warm, light, and calm, making her feel very cozy… even if the evening was somewhat spoiled by a brief incident…

A burly middle-aged man came over to them and quite deliberately studied Siena. Then he said with an unpleasant cackle, boring holes into Martin:

“Interested in such young girls, Mr. Bartoli? Don’t you have enough of those beautiful and carefree models?”

“Are you so bent on having a conversation with law and order, Mr. Van Helsing?” retorted Martin, frowning. “This is the second time you approach me in an unorthodox way. Should I become concerned?”

The man spitefully chuckled and shook his head.

“You should be, Mr. Bartoli, you should be. Beware the wrath of spurned women, for you seem to break many hearts in your wake… But as to my humble person, I came to say goodbye to you. No hard feelings, I hope…”

Martin shrugged his shoulders derisively and muttered:

“I wouldn’t’ve cried even if you left without any goodbye, Mr. Van Helsing.”

The man chuckled, pointedly bowed to Siena, and left the restaurant.

Martin looked pissed off but quickly came back to his senses.

“What a jerk!” he grumbled, taking a swig of wine from his glass, and explained to the girl: “A few weeks back, he broke into my studio. Didn’t do anything beyond that, just spouted some nonsense. I hope he said goodbye for good this time.”

Siena frowned, concerned.

“Did you report to the police?”

The man nodded.

“I sure did, but what good it would do to such a nutcase…!”

The girl thought it over and tentatively offered:

“What if he installed some bugs or cameras in your studio? To spy on you?”

Martin unhappily sighed.

“That’s the first thing I checked. Double checked… But if this wacko truly wanted to spy on me, all he would need is just a pair of binoculars.”

He lulled her into sleep with his skillful massage and transported her warm limp body to the bed.

She had a healthy glow on her skin, and it made him pause. She didn’t smell like food to him…

He quickly zoomed around the studio to get things in order and returned to lie next to the girl. Her head was very heavy, indicating she was in deep sleep. It felt so good…

“You never woke me up,” Siena smiled in the morning, squinting to the sunlight.

Martin stretched and yawned.

“Seemed like a crime…”

The girl clung to him and delightfully stroked his torso.

“May I hope for a payback time?”

He smiled.

“I’m all yours…”

Her kisses began arousing him, and soon, he pushed her to her back, making her surrender to him in the most delicious way…

Martin lit a cigarette and drew in the smoke.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as usual.

Siena sighed and turned her face away from the sun.

“I’m… okay...”

Martin scoffed and caressed her.

“I have trouble believing that you’re capable of having just sex at your age. You should want relationships, something warm and fuzzy, a family. It’s basic biology.”

The girl frowned, looking at him.

“Yeah, I already got you’re not into that…”

He sighed and drew another puff of smoke.

“I never said that.”

She swiftly turned to see his face.

“Martin, stop it. I am willing to accept things as they are, so don’t try to play nice! I don’t want anything that’s not natural for you.”

The man chuckled.

“Oh, you’re so cute when you speak like an adult. And your honesty is commendable. But our best intentions seldomly work as designed...”

Siena could not let him show that his questions rattled her. In fact, she was afraid of going into that territory at all with the devilishly attractive photographer. She knew that she would be head over heels with him as soon as she would let him sweet-talk to her. So, she made it her mission to maintain the distance between them, using her studies as a buffer, for they actually required lots of time and effort.

Martin, on his part, remained a fantastic lover and a considerate man, respecting her conditions. He was mature enough to understand what she was going through and supported her in the subtlest of ways, giving her the opportunity to make her own decisions.

Actually, he found it fun, explaining to his buddy Sebastian that it was like trying to grow a plant from a seedling. It required lots of attention and care, but the curiosity as to what might grow out of that seed kept him committed.

One day, she was strolling down an aisle of a grocery store and unexpectedly saw Martin selecting apples at a greens stall nearby.

She was unprepared to meet him and had no time to steel herself. Hear heart leapt at the unexpected joy. She wanted so much to jump him from behind, covering his eyes…

Grinning and blushing from the mischief-drawn pleasure, she hid behind a shelf and dialed him.

“Yes?” she heard both on the phone and close to her.

“May I ask you where are you now?” she asked, stifling a giggle.

“At a store. Why? Are you planning a prank?”

She grinned.

“Yeah, something like that…”

She poked her face from behind the shelf and met his laughing gaze.

He put down his phone and approached her, studying her face.

“Ah, Miss Reynolds. Are you finally admitting to having a crush on me, aren’t you?” he gave her a playful smile, trying to decide what to do with her.

The girl’s face displayed an array of complex emotions.

“Would you believe me if I said ‘no’?” she finally asked, her lips twisting into a crooked smile.

He sighed and shook his head negatively. Paused. And suddenly asked her:

“Do you like ice-cream?”

Warily, Siena examined his face and replied:

“Well, yes… Why?”

He hugged her by the shoulder and pulled toward the exit.

“Then come, I’ll treat you to a yummy gelato down the block…”

“But…”

Martin’s lips brushed her temple, ear, and neck.

“No butts, sweetness…”

He drove her to the cashier, paid for the apples, took her grocery bag, and ushered her to the exit.

On the street, he showed the gelateria to her and beckoned for her to follow him.

But Siena was still resisting.

“Martin, what are you doing?” she asked, watching the man. He turned to her, and his ironic grin widened.

“Didn’t you want to have some fun?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Fun, huh…?”

The man gave her a warm grin.

“We might start by playing a game of Cha-cha-cha…”

Siena scoffed amusedly.

“What’s that?”

Martin laughed.

“That’s easy. I start to enumerate some activities, and if you like them, you take a step toward the gelateria. If you don’t, you take a step back.”

The girl laughed out loud, feeling an ungodly amount of glee.

“Ok, shoot!”

And he began:

“I like apples…” she took a step forward. “And ice-cream…” (another step forward) “I like espresso…” (a step back) “With a small crunchy cantuccino on the side…” (a step forward)

Siena involuntarily smiled.

“Oh, this is funny. Also, you like whiskey and smoke…”

He scoffed.

“See? That’s a misconception. I don’t like ‘em.”

Siena stopped again, trying to reign in her wildly jumping emotions.

“Martin, what’s all this? What are you doing?”

He snorted.

“Isn’t that what people do when they want to get closer to each other? They exchange some personal information.”

The girl was staring at him, slack-jawed.

“Closer?”

The man cackled merrily and shook her by the shoulder.

“Hey, Earth calling Siena!”

Suddenly, the girl stirred, her arms sprang to life, and she hugged the man, her lips coming close to his lips and lingering there, waiting.

The man slowly inclined his head, his soft lips pressing to hers.

After a while, they parted just enough to see each other’s faces. Then the man put all bags into one hand and pressed the girl to his torso with the other hand.

Then he covered her lips with his mouth, his tongue sliding between her lips, savoring her.

She moaned and eagerly sucked on his tongue, feeling her cheeks growing hot with maddening pleasure.

“Mmmm, you surely know how to get closer…” she murmured upon releasing his mouth, licking her lips and dazedly staring at his face.

“See who’s talking,” he grumbled softly, rolling his fingertips over her temple and cheek.

They both chuckled, and Martin prodded her to resume walking in the direction of the gelateria.

The girl eagerly hugged him, and they strolled down the street with their arms crossed at their backs, hands resting on each other’s waist.

“I… want to ask you something…” she ventured, studying him out of the corner of her eye.

He sighed resignedly.

“Sure, ask away.”

Siena reflected on how to phrase her next question and finally asked:

“When I first called you after you left your business card at the parlor, you seemed… reluctant to talk to me. You said you left the card for a kind of closure… What did you have in mind?”

The man scoffed and tossed his head back.

“Ah, that…” it seemed his mind had been miles away from that topic. He made a long inhale, focusing on the answer. “Well… As I’ve already told you, it just didn’t seem right to disappear without a trace… Maybe I’m old-fashioned that way… When you started talking about a massage in such a business-like manner, I was… pissed off. I dislike such games. But I concede that you probably didn’t feel secure enough to voice your true desires right away…”

Siena looked at her lover, her eyes narrowing.

“And what should I have told you then? I wasn’t even sure I should call you at all!”

Martin laughed and rubbed her shoulder soothingly.

“Sorry, I seem to forget that you are still very young. A more mature woman would call me just out of curiosity and would not make it sound like a business appointment. We would meet, talk and laugh, and see where it would get us…”

Siena gawked at him. This seemed too incredible to be true. But there they were…

“You mean… you were offering me to… get to know you? Like… a date?”

He nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders and murmured elusively, looking away from her:

“Maybe… A date is such a big word…”

Siena deeply sighed, suddenly overwhelmed by the magnitude of her misinterpretation.

She slapped her forehead with her palm.

“You…! You were so unapproachable! How was I supposed to tell what you were offering me…?!”

The man laughed and ruffled her hair.

“Oh dear… All right, here’s a tip for you: Try to behave like a human being next time instead of making wild conjectures. I liked… oufff… initially, you attracted me by earnestly voicing your desire. I found it… interesting. And then you called, all business-like, talking about money and stuff… I decided to play along, to see how far you would be willing to go in this manner… But are you still willing to discuss that call?”

Siena was feeling very awkward, but she was bent on righting the situation. Obviously, she hadn’t been behaving like an adult with him, and Martin was laid-back enough to point it out to her. It felt so odd: on one hand, he made it clear (both in his words and body language) that he liked her; on the other – he was dissecting the situation from his standpoint in such an unflattering way that he was running a risk of her breaking up with him. She thought it over. Now, THAT would be childish! To take offense just because someone told you the truth as he saw it?

She sighed again and stopped at the entrance to the gelateria and cast the man a direct gaze.

“Thank you for telling me. It hurt, it made me feel immature, but I thank you for giving me credit and staying with me.”

He chuckled and patted her on the shoulder.

“Oh, don’t be so serious, little thing. It’s fine. We are fine. Nobody’s perfect. Now let’s go inside already.”


End file.
